


Like Two Drops of Water

by willowelijah



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Agressive Behaviour, Alcohol, Bullying, Decathlon, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Homecoming Dance, House Party, Jealousy, Minor Violence, Party, Romance, School Dances, Spideychelle, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowelijah/pseuds/willowelijah
Summary: Michelle and Peter are just best friends. When Michelle gets asked to the homecoming dance, Peter gets jealous. When she falls for Spider-Man, Peter gets jealous (of himself). Suddenly it seems maybe they weren't "just best friends", after all. (Spideychelle)
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story which I published back in 2017 on Fanfiction.net, but I'm adding it on here now.

**Michelle’s p.o.v.**

”PETER!” I yelled, causing everyone’s heads in the study room to turn to Peter and I. I’m not going to lie, having everyone look at me at the same time gave me a bit of a rush, a rarity when it comes to me. I scolded Peter, but his smile persisted and his other hand was in his hair.

At this point you might be wondering: _other hand? What happened to his first hand?_ And I’ll grudgingly answer you this: it’s holding my calculus book, currently out of my reach. If your natural next question is _why?_ Then you’re up to speed.

“Yes.” He answered calmly. His stupid face was looking overly confident and definitely more confident than he should be as, like I said before, he had stolen my calculus book. I was not in the mood for his playful self.

I leaned out of my seat to grab it from him, a prospect, which shouldn’t have been too unattainable given how he was sitting right next to me. But somehow he managed to snatch it away.

Figuring I should switch tactics, as I had gotten closer to his face in the last minute than I typically like to find myself and he was looking particularly amused by that notion, I leaned back in my seat again, crossing my arms and raising my eyebrows to visually establish my dominance over him.

“Give it back.” I said simply but sternly. I had decided that I needed no other means than my own voice as persuasion.

“Uuuh, no.” Peter replied casually.

“Give it back _now!_ ”

“No! You were being mean!” He said like I was a kindergarten teacher, making him the toddler.

“I was not being mean!” I exclaimed while instinctively reaching for the book once more, only for him to snatch it away _once more_.

“Okay, okay, you can have it back.” He reasoned and, to my relief, handed it back. I don’t think my brain could have handled being that close to him anymore today. But just before I was about to take it in my safe hands, he jerked the book away for a _fourth time_. I swear sometimes his agility was superhuman. I was at a total loss. Recently Peter had become sort of annoying in a worse way than usual. It could only be described as a very stomach stirring and _provocative_ way… He’d become more physical when he teased me, like now for example, and more confident. I wasn’t sure what had lead to this development.

Peter was having a look around the room; hand high in the air and not a care in the world. I took some time to assess the situation. Seeing as he had not backed down on any of my three attempts at getting hold of that book, I decided it was best to fold at this point.

“Fine. I am mean. But how can I stop something, which is such a _vital_ part of my personality?” I argued. “It’s like me asking you not to be late for a decathlon. You just. Can’t. Do. It.” I faked a pity-smile, knowing I had him. But the book stayed locked in its position above his fondly smiling face, leaving me briefly wondering how his muscles weren’t giving in yet.

After waiting in agony for Peter to say something, do something except smile boastfully, I continued, “So we’re just going to sit here and stare and not get anything done?” I asked hopelessly while eyeing the clock taped to the wall.

His demeanor changed, “That could be fun!” He said in that joyous, childlike tone he often used.

“Peter.”

“Yes?”

I motioned at the clock with my pen. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

Peter looked disappointed for once. He began to gather his things, leaving the notorious book disregarded on the table like it henceforth meant nothing to him, ridding it of all the memories attached.

“You hold nothing sacred.” I stated while grabbing the book as quickly as I could before those reflexes had a chance of getting to it.

Peter ignored me. “See, this is why you’re a mean person. If you hadn’t said anything, I would have had some more precious minutes of staring and not getting anything done. How could your sinful soul rob me of that delight? I mean who even keeps track of their friend’s arrangements?” He rambled on in the same witty manner he’d carried since we had first sat down about an hour ago.

Once he’d left I sat back, finally able to relax and return to my book. Finally I could read again. Although I found myself having to force back the feeling that the book was better off in Peter’s hand, sitting next to me.

* * *

**Peter’s p.o.v.**

“Have you been studying with M.J.?” Ned asked from behind his computer.

“Yeah.” I said, sitting down across from him. “How did you know?”

“You’re a little flushed, you look overly happy, your hair is all over the place, presumably from fiddling with it, and you just generally look all dopamine-y.” Ned gestured to my whole self. “It’s like an airborne virus, transmitting through the air. It’s all around us.” He looked around the room skeptically before returning to his computer.

“…Okay Sherlock.” I said slowly while placing my bag on the seat next to me. “How’s it going?” I leaned over to try and see what he was doing. Ned and I had launched a plan to disable Mr. Stark’s tracking device he had installed in my suit. The plan had turned out to not be as easy as it had seemed upon its inauguration.

Ned ignored my question, eyes instead scanning the screen rapidly. “So are you going to ask her to homecoming?” Ned mumbled.

 _Glad we’re still on this subject._ “What? Michelle?” I turned to make sure she hadn’t wandered into the room unexpectedly. We had told her that we had some private business to attend to, since she didn’t know about Spidey. Surprisingly she hadn’t seemed to care in the least, but you could never be too sure about M.J. “Why would I do that? We’ll hang out the whole night either way.” I reasoned.

Ned kept scanning the screen, “First of all: you asking her to go with you, and both of you showing up separately are two highly different things that will inevitably lead to two highly different outcomes. Second of all: what if someone else asks her?”

“Why would someone else ask her?” I asked before I’d had a chance to think.

Ned finally looked at me, although it did not live up to the expectations; he looked as if I’d just laughed at a corpse. “Why wouldn’t they?”

I felt really bad, but it had only dawned on me now — someone else might ask her. I had just never considered that possibility. Michelle never has a date. Granted, I don’t either. Usually on these types of events the three of us stand awkwardly in the corner, cracking jokes about everything regarding the whole affair and respectfully refusing any alcohol the other students have smuggled inside. _Michelle never has a date_. I repeated in my head. She just never seemed interested. Why would she be now all of a sudden?

“Yeah okay. She could have a date.” I agreed. “She probably won’t though.” I pronounced after a moments silence, barely believing the words myself and receiving a pair of raised eyebrows from Ned.

* * *

**1 August 2017**


	2. Chapter 2

**Peter's p.o.v.**

“MJ has a date.” Ned said to me as I slammed my locker shut. He was repressing that pleased look Ned always has when proving me wrong.

“Really?” I asked feebly. I leaned my head to rest against the shut locker.

“I’m actually sorry for you. You have to excuse me from smiling.” Ned said between smiles.

“Are you sure about it?” I asked without moving away from the rigid locker door. I imagined what my homecoming would presumably look like from hereon, not especially impressed with what I was visualizing and hence wishing I could sink through the locker.

“Yes. Assuming that she was telling the truth when she told me.”

I leered at Ned, not believing what I was hearing. “ _She_ told you?” I asked enviously.

“It’s not like it’s juicy gossip, of course _she_ told me.”

“Why hasn’t she told me yet?” I asked rhetorically.

A flash of panic crossed Ned’s features, “Here she comes.” He whispered not all that subtly.

I turned around, suddenly self-conscious. A hand instinctively reached for my hair when I saw her curly head bouncing closer to us with a smile. The last thing I had time to do was pray she would tell me, while at the same time dreading having to hear her say it.

“Hello.” She said, seizing us with a skeptical frown. “Is your general mannerism a direct result of yesterday’s ‘private business’, because I can leave again so as to possibly calm your pulses?” She asked sardonically. _Typical Michelle_ , I thought. I’m not sure if she had studied ways to come in to a room, throw together some words and immediately get the upper hand on a conversation while simultaneously making everyone who wasn’t her slightly uncomfortable, or if it came natural to her. My guess would be the latter of the two.

I laughed, hopefully not too nervously. “No, that’s… resolved.” I looked at Ned who was nodding vigorously. The truth of it was, we had gotten nowhere on that pursuit.

“So, who’s your date?” I blurted before I’d had a chance to stop myself. Ned’s eyes widened in my direction, Michelle shot Ned a look and I looked down at my feet in shame at my lack of tact. _You were going to wait for her to tell you_ , I mentally lectured myself.

“Uuuh,” Michelle stammered and I cursed everything. Yesterday had been so easy and fun, now everything just felt awkward. “Liz.” She finally revealed, looking away from the both of us.

“Liz?” I questioned. “ _Liz_ asked you to the homecoming dance?” Liz was sweet, intelligent and everyone loved her, whereas I could maybe be considered one of those things. I played with the zipper on my hoodie in an attempt to not have to look into those brown eyes, suddenly feeling like a small bug in comparison.

“Damn, you got lucky!” Ned erupted and Michelle smiled shyly, looking away repeatedly. “Do you like her?” Ned asked, making me feel like I was taking part in a conversation I had not consented to.

Michelle’s shoulders rose. “She’s cute.” She said. I looked up by reflex, to my horror meeting her searching eyes. I tried to play it off by looking around at the students whirling around the hallway.

“Are you a couple now?” I asked as naturally as I could.

“We’ll see where it goes.” Michelle answered with a somewhat confident smile. As confident smiles go, it was pretty confident, but then again, I’ve seen confidenter* smiles. “I gotta go.” She said uncomfortably. “See you tonight guys.” She finished before she left me slightly exasperated at her purposefully fuzzy answer.

* * *

“Hello Peter! Hello Ned!” Liz greeted us enthusiastically upon opening the door to her mansion and paving the way for a wave of sound to hit us all at once. Sometimes, when I felt a little too good about being called a “hero” I liked to compare the rugged flat where Aunt May and I lived to Liz’s house. I found it reminded me of who I really was.

“Hi Liz, you look nice.” Ned said whereas I merely mumbled something in response.

“Thanks Ned. You two look very nice as well.” She replied sweetly.

When I, in contrast to Ned, failed to respond Liz rolled her eyes. “I take it you’ve heard that I asked Michelle to homecoming?” She conjectured jadedly, hand to hip.

“How would you know?” I asked without bothering to look at her, instead I searched the small, barely existent dancing crowd inside. Most of the people were still drinking up the courage to dance, I deduced.

“Well, you’re not usually this rude, Peter.” She raised her eyebrows reproachfully.

Ned was looking at the floor, probably in second hand embarrassment for me. I now felt pretty guilty about my behavior, but I refused to show it, carrying on with the charade. “Yes. M.J. told me.” I lied. “We’re pretty close.” That part’s true at least.

“Rub it in.” Ned joked in an attempt to diffuse the tension, but Liz was not really having it at this time, facial expression remaining still as stone.

The party did not get off to a good start; let’s just say that. We eventually found M.J. though. She was sitting in a beanbag chair by herself, looking strangely content with her situation.

“Finally!” She said once she could make out our figures through the dim luminescent light. “I’ve been fending of suitors ever since I got here. Thank god you guys are here to take the burden away.”

“Really?” I asked while cramping my way into the chair as well, as she made room for me. Ned had his own, but there were only two, which meant we had to make compromises. I didn’t mind sitting next to M.J. though, her flannel felt soft against my arm.

“Yes.” She motioned at the beanbag chair next to hers, the one Ned was now occupying. “This old thing has had suitors coming as if they were running on a fire.” She said funnily, “But I told them, I said, ‘It’s waiting for Mr. Right.’ in this case Mr. Leeds.” She emoted. She winked at Ned, whose eyes were big and lost, whose eyebrows were curved in puzzlement and whose mouth was ajar.

“We can tell you’ve held the fort without us.” I laughed. “You haven’t talked to Liz anything?” I asked, voice suddenly soft and unsure and wondering how come she’d been sitting in this corner all by herself.

Michelle paused. “I — … I definitely greeted her upon arriving!” She finished light-heartedly after a small stumble.

Ned laughed, a little too hard. “What’s the deal you two anyway? I will always respect your decisions M.J., but seriously? Liz? Don’t get me wrong, she’s great, but what do you guys even have in common?” I inwardly thanked Ned for daring to articulate exactly what I was thinking and I glanced at M.J. to see how she was taking Ned’s words.

Michelle didn’t seem too bothered by the criticism. “She’s in the Academic Decathlon.” She said, putting on her most logical voice. “And… She’s cute I guess.” Michelle ended uncertainly.

“I she much more than that though?” I asked bitterly. They both looked at me as if I had two heads and I deliberated if I should take the night of from speaking.

Thankfully, M.J. chose to ignore my ill worded utterance. “I feel like dancing tonight!” She erupted enthusiastically. “We need to dance tonight!”

“Yeah!” Both Ned and I chimed, thinking they were empty words. We were then more than surprised when Michelle actually stood up, ruining the perfect balance I had in the bean chair and therefore causing me to fall over. She offered her hand to help me up, which I took — out of obligation and not out of desire to take part in her proposal.

We should have known better. We really should have. Of course M.J. wanted to dance. Of course she asked Flash to put on Ramones. Of course she didn’t really dance, more like waved her long sleeves around while jumping, the objective being to waste as much energy as possible. “It was how they did it in the 70’s!” She’d say. And of course I could do nothing but watch her in awe with a funny feeling in my stomach.

Suddenly the music stopped and everyone turned to Flash, who was looking at me from across the room. _Damn._ I thought, knowing exactly what was coming.

“Parker!” Flash called for me, knowing he had the attention of the whole room, which was apparently the whole point of this exchange. “Where’s your friend?”

The room was quiet.

“Gee, I don’t know. Protecting the city?” I suggested sardonically.

“Yeah, from what I hear he’s a pretty busy guy isn’t he?” When I didn’t reply to his clear attempt at mockery he pushed further. “I mean you would know, wouldn’t you? …You’re his friend?” Flash continued rigorously, tempting me to consider the suit I knew lay stacked inside my backpack. But I knew better, I wasn’t going to use Spider-Man, I was going to wait for this little act to be over and then go back to semi-enjoying this party. “I’ll lay off Peter. I can tell you’re getting annoyed.” Flash said, thinking he had me in the palm of his hand, which in itself instigated annoyance in me beyond anything he had said up to this point. “Just a word of advice before I go: if you’re always the first one to text, then he’s just not that into you.” He said condescendingly, pretending to smile in his most compassionate way.

Michelle groaned, “Will you leave him the fuck alone, Flash?” She said, motioning with the coke in her hand.

“You know what? I’ll call him right now.” I announced to the group, speaking clearly enough for the people in the back to hear me. I glanced at Michelle who was raising my pulse simply by looking surprised at my proclamation.

What I did next I could barely believe, myself. I slid my phone out of my pocket while leaving the scene, I pretended to search for Spider-Man’s number and once I’d got to a more secluded part of the house I _pretended to make the call_. I _actually faked_ a whole phone call only to then exit the house, with my pack back, containing the suit. I could not for the life of me visualize how the rest of this night was going to play out and that scared me. I had no clue what to do next. I did know for sure that I couldn’t have my friends having to stand up for me, I didn’t want to be stood up for. I had to stick up for myself.

 _Pretending to be friends with a superhero is not the same as standing up for yourself_ , a voice in the back of my head said. _They’re actually so far apart that I find it amazing you could confuse the two._

 _If you can’t stand up for yourself without the suit, then you shouldn’t have the suit._ The voice continued.

 _Your powers are your responsibility to use for doing good; impressing a bully doesn’t constitute as doing good._ The voice in the back of my head sure had a lot of sound arguments.

I put on the suit, just to see how it felt. As soon as it was on I suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Like, if the plan had felt stupid to begin with, this was next level stupid. On the streets of New York the suit made me feel powerful, but at a party with high school students, it was an entirely different story.

I jumped up into a tree so as not to be seen by anyone. I watched M.J. and Ned dance to the muddled sounds of Blitzkrieg Pop on the inside. I say dancing, but it was mostly just uncontrollable jumping. When the song ended I watched as M.J. walked up to Flash to request something new. She could never stand having to listen to music she didn’t like.

I imagined what I would say if I went inside, but I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t make me feel incredibly uneasy. And also, a unitard didn’t exactly “fit perfectly” with the dress code.

My eyes adjusted to the scene inside once again, but I was thunderstruck when I saw Flash, the man of the hour, forcefully pulling M.J. toward him and her resisting with all her might. All thoughts of “should I go in or not?” were lost to me and I jumped.

With a few swift jumps I was inside the house, I climbed up along the wall and no one spotted me until I was right above the crowd. Ned was now trying to push Flash away while M.J. was pouring her coke down his hair. I cursed all the drunken teenagers who had barely noticed the scene.

People gasped. “Oh my god, is that the real Spider-Man?” Someone exclaimed.

Before the golden trio could spot me though, I made my move. I shot my web to trap his feet, making him loose his balance and nearly fall over. Flash stopped in his movements to try and figure out what the strange substance around his feet was and Michelle was able to get loose from his grip. Her face was hard, but I could see that she’d been scared.

“What a party you guys are having here!” I said to announce my presence. I back-flipped and landed in front of Flash, from there I kept firing my web at him, trapping his hands and legs until he was covered in it. I stepped closer with each shot until I was right in front of him. I poked him to see if he’d fall, but Flash stood like a rock, covered in the sticky web.

I glanced at my friends, whose jaws were dropped open. Ned leaned in and gave me a high five. Flash’s mouth was just as agape as everyone else’s, shocked into submission. I don’t think anyone had expected New York’s famous masked guy to swing by their party, much less make a scene as this one.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “It’ll dissolve in about two hours. By then hopefully you will have learned not to harass people. I mean it’s not exactly rocket science, so I think you’ll get there.” I turned to the group with a newfound confidence; “You guys are with me on this?” They cheered in response, glasses filled to the brim with alcohol raised in salute. “See, these guys believe in you. Now you’ve just got to believe in yourself.” I told him sarcastically with an encouraging slap on his shoulder, only to then have to steady him so that he wouldn’t fall to the floor — I wasn’t a complete sadist.

“So you are friends with Peter?” Flash quipped from his locked position. I couldn’t believe my ears; after this whole ordeal he was still on that subject? I wanted to tape him to the ceiling, have him hang there for the rest of the night, but I kept the charade going. After all, I had initially sought out to prove a point.

“Peter?” I began, “Peter and I are more than friends.” I emoted, only to subsequently realize my blunder. I caught M.J. snort and my head turned to briefly meet her eyes. “What I mean to say is… he’s like a mother to me.” I corrected light-heartedly to make her laugh even more. When she did I found myself continuing, “It’s like he gave birth to me. It’s like he birthed me out of his metaphorical womb. That’s how close we are.” Flash looked on, shocked at the odd situation I’d created among a room of partygoers.

“Right. And where is he now?” He hissed.

“He’s a busy guy, you know.” I reasoned. “Anyway…” I had begun to realize it was time to leave before any other queries arose. I put my hands in my nonexistent pockets. I made a mental note to talk to Mr. Stark about pockets, so as to avoid situations like these.

Suddenly the hairs on the back of my head rose and my muscles turned hard. Time suddenly took longer to pass. I realized that someone was right behind me. In one move I turned and caught their arm right as it was about to latch onto my mask. My eyes were wide in shock as they stared into some random drunk girl’s. I pushed her back lightly and she stumbled but didn’t fall. Next, I took a few leaps before I was out the window, gone from everyone’s view.

 _Why does this always happen,_ I thought. Some idiot _always_ tries to remove the mask without my consent. The great thing about the mask was that it created this sort of mystery. No one ever knew the true face of the web slinger, meaning I could go unnoticed if I so please. The problem with the mask however was that everyone loves a mystery. And a fair few love being the smartass who unravels it, especially disrespectful teens who’ve had too much to drink.

I sat down on top of the roof, watching the lilac smog spread like a curtain over the distant city. I pondered whether or not I should head back inside, Spider-suit off. But I decided it would be too suspicious if I suddenly appeared, having missed the whole show. It might set the ever-notice-how-Batman-and-Bruce-Wayne-are-never-in-the-same-room effect in motion.

My phone buzzed, Michelle was calling. I thought about answering, out of curiosity, but I didn’t know what I would tell her if she were to ask about why I had left so suddenly. Eventually the buzzing stopped and I was left waiting for the leaves to fall.

* * *

* Used with humorous intent.

**4 August 2017**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone wondered if Michelle is bisexual in this fic. My answer is: yes I think so, either that or pan, but I'm leaving it open.

I was sitting on the uncomfortable tiles of Liz’s rooftop, still in the Spidey-suit, still contemplating if I should head home or not, when I heard someone slide the front door open. I waited for them to cross the rooftop border where I could see them, thinking it was a drunken, upset teen who was coming out here to get away from some extraneous drama. But when they crossed the border, I could see clearly that it was Michelle. Her head was leaned down, looking at her phone. To my surprise, she didn’t stop walking when she got past the property line. Instead she turned and headed down the street.

_She’s leaving? Already? All by herself?_

So many questions ran through my head that I decided, despite my better judgment, to try and get them answered. I stood up and ran along the tiles, hoping no one would hear me from the inside and forgetting that there was in fact loud music playing. I jumped into a tree beside the house before M.J. would fade too far from my sight.

I had never interacted with M.J. as Spider-Man besides tonight, and I felt kind of nervous about it. I was a curious person by nature however, and I needed to get my questions answered. I needed to know if she had been upset by the trouble with Flash, or if something else was bothering her. If there was one thing that was different when I was Spider-Man compared to Peter Parker, besides the high tech gadgets and general confidence that came with the suit, it was how people found it easier to confide in the mask, rather than the face. I don’t know if it was inherently easier to talk to a concealed man with no personal identity of his own, or if it was just my face that was the problem. Either way, I can’t tell you how many people had shared more than I had initially wanted to take share in, in the aftermath of a returned bike or a near death. Come to think of it, maybe trust between strangers was a direct result of a favor done in altruism.

But like I said, curious person by nature, friend walking alone in the dark — what was I supposed to do?

I wondered if she would like Spidey. I wondered things that I didn’t normally find myself wondering. Like: would she be impressed by my abilities? The little men on the inside my stomach began to jump at that. I was entering unexplored territory, territory which I had debated the entrance of in the past. Michelle had never been part of Spider-Man. Ned had on weekly occasions, but never M.J.

Not thinking, I ran the last bit toward her, took a shot of my web at the lamppost above her and swung around it to land in front of her.

“Hey.” I said confidently with a wave.

She looked at me in shock. Shock, which would have been more apparent I think had the rest of her features not been so gloomy. Surprisingly, although not all that surprising if I was to consider whom I was talking about, she seemed unfazed. She took a last look at her phone before sliding it into her pocket and giving me her full attention.

“What are you up to?” She asked it in a way that implied it wasn’t one of those, “What’s up with you? I am interested in how you’re doing.” and more, “Why are you lurking around a dimly lit street in the middle of the night?”

I needed to ease the mood, remind her of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man she had no-doubt seen on TV, saving kitties from trees. “To tell you the truth, I am here for one reason only, and that is finding out what _you_ are up to.” I said while pointing at her.

She looked at me, only barely amused. “I am on my way home.” She said, and set her walking in motion. She went past me, showing no indication of expecting me to follow along. But I did, out of seeing no other option in the comforts of my deluded mind.

“Hey! Hey! Wait for me—“ I paused to think of what was acceptable for me to call her in this universe where I supposedly didn’t know her name. “…Girl.” I settled on. I caught up with her. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.” She seized me through her fringe, walking with her arms tucked in amongst themselves. I bit my lip under my mask, unsure of how to word something out without it being too wordy, yet still using eloquent words nonetheless. “It couldn’t have been fun... what Flash did to you.” I tried to communicate remorse, but it was entirely pointless through the mask, my voice had to take that whole burden on it’s sole back.

M.J. didn’t look all that rattled though. In this moment, she looked calm and collected. “That guy had _serious_ anger issues.” She said, taking a moment to stare at the sky. New York didn’t usually get stars; all the city lights that projected onto the soft heaven took them away. The suburbs weren’t much better, but they had some. “It was scary in the moment, but it doesn’t really bother me all that much now.” She paused, looking nowhere but up. “The only reason I even got in that situation in the first place, was that Flash said some very-much-aggravating things about my friend. Being the person that I am, I defended my friend.” She said reproachfully. I began to take notice of some underlying irritation. “Like friends do.” He voice was passive aggressive. “But my friend, being the person that he is, was nowhere to be found and hence, didn’t defend me back.”

A pit formed in my stomach, full of the world’s most devious creatures, stabbing and biting and poisoning me from the inside. _I was there. I was there. I was there the whole time._ = My first thought.

My second thought was that _I should have been there_. _Peter_ should have been there.

My third thought was how unfair it was for her to say that, because how could Peter possibly have known what was going on? He hadn’t even been in the room. But then I had to stop myself and look at the facts: he had known. He had seen the whole scene from outside. Had I not been sitting out in a tree, debating whether or not I should use my famous alter ego to get a bully to shut up—in reality probably instead finding something else to taunt me with—when I could have been inside, dancing with my friends and not have them fight my battles for me, then none of this would have happened.

“What did Peter tell you?” She asked. It took me a while to understand that she was referring to the promised phone call. Predictably, I was tongue-tied, eyes wide and overall dumbfound entered my demeanor. Michelle, catching on quickly as she often did, sighed and rolled her eyes. “Can you at least tell me why he presumably left? I looked everywhere for him.”

_She looked everywhere for me._

“He needed to be somewhere. It was important.” I stressed the last part as much as I could, but figured it would never be enough. People needed clear claims. Something concrete they could see with their own eyes or comprehend with their own mind if they were going to truly be persuaded of said importance.

She laughed without delight, discerned without compassion and talked without grace. She said, “Funny how Spider-Man has time to come to a party but _oh-so-busy_ Peter Parker has ‘somewhere important’ to be.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She whispered to herself in more mellow tones than previous one’s, suddenly vulnerable.

“Why didn’t you stay? Maybe Peter would have come back.”

“’Doesn’t sound like him.” She said bitterly, unknowingly stinging me once again. “Besides: stay and do what? Ned took over the booth after Flash got webbed. They’re my only friends, and without Peter it’s not…” She gave up on finishing the sentence altogether.

She didn’t seem to have liked being at party without me, I realized. It’s not so much that I was feeling a specific feeling strongly; it’s more that I was feeling so much all at once that I thought I might burst. But I stopped myself, not allowing myself to feel all of that. I didn’t deserve it.

“Anywho. You should sling your web elsewhere, I’m going to walk home.” She gave me a melancholy smile, expecting me to leave her. “See you around.”

“What?!” All casualties were dropped and I was stunned. I thought for sure that she was eventually going to drop walking on this suburban street and head back to Liz’s to try and catch some form of ride home. For sure I thought this. “You’re going to _walk_ home? Alone? You do realize where we are right? You do realize that our current whereabouts are not near the inner city, right?” I was quite worked up.

“Alright, calm down geography sheriff. No need to patronize me, Spider-guy.” She held up a defensive façade, but I could tell that she was enjoying the banter, M.J. always did. I smiled behind the mask. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” She said in her most reasonable voice, apparently under the delusion that it was a reasonable argument to be made and I was once again provoked beyond any sense of control.

“You sure are asking the right guy. From what I’ve seen of this city, your question should be phrased, ‘what’s the least bad thing that could happen?’” I said confidently. “And the answer to that is: I go with you.”

At first, Michelle didn’t seem all that opposed to the idea. We had after all already walked a fair bit. But I began to notice something seething inside her. She was like simmering water, about to boil. “I shouldn’t have to be accompanied by a guard just because I want to walk home at night!” She fumed.

“I know!” I said, a little too loudly. “I know that you shouldn’t and it _sucks_ that we live in that world, but we do, and you can’t just ignore that and not take precautions. You have to adapt.”

“Adapt?!” Michelle spat. Her anger was flaring. “I shouldn’t have to adapt to a sexist world, the world should adapt to me! _And I’m walking home_.” I knew that she was angry at the situation and not me, but I felt attacked, first Peter and now Spider-Man and I began to feel a physical fatigue, putting a weight on my eyebrows and making them hang low.

The thing with M.J. was she cared so much about all the unfair horrors of the world that sometimes it all became too much and she decided not to even recognize the hardships that faced her. But never for very long, she wouldn’t be M.J. without her advocacy for social justice.

“And I’d very much like to go with you if you’ll let me.” I proposed sincerely.

After some long and hard consideration she nodded and looked at me with quizzical eyes. “Why do you do these things?” She asked.

“It’s my responsibility.” I said simply. The words ran off my tongue smoothly as I had become so accustomed to them over my timeline as Spider-Man.

“It’s really not.” She insisted, like she knew better. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad what you’re doing. I just don’t see how it’s not ‘your responsibility’ to make sure I get home safe.”

“Superhuman strength, agility, resistance and senses, the power to climb walls and shoot spider web and stick an asshole to a dance floor. I have the power to help people in need. Don’t you think that it is then my moral obligation to do just that?” I paused to see if she would retort, when she kept walking in silence I kept talking. “Just like you have the ability to speak, which is why you speak up about important societal issues. You do it simply because you can and you know that it’s the right thing to do.” I finished, quite happy with having managed to put words to feelings.

M.J. looked at me and then back at her shoes, she was smiling and shaking her head. “It’s our responsibilities.” She agreed.

* * *

The next day when I entered the school cafeteria, M.J. sat talking mostly to Liz. They had disregarded their trays of food and a few unknown people had gathered around them, half sitting and half standing.

I slowly walked toward them. My plan was to be the bestest friend to M.J. that I possibly could be. I was going to be kind and present and funny and present and just generally a good friend who cared about her. And present. She’d forget about yesterday in no time.

During the party yesterday, M.J. hadn’t seemed the least interested in Liz, but today they looked like they were closer than atoms. In fact, the group seemed to be _gossiping_ , heads were leaned in with wide eyes and goofy smiles. Everyone around them seemed highly interested. My brows furrowed as I tried to get my head around the idea of M.J. engaging in gossip.

“What did he say?” Someone around her was asking while I came up behind the gathering of people, unsure of where to sit down.

“He said that it was ‘ _his responsibility_ ’.” M.J. answered with a roll of her eyes and I stopped right in the motion of placing my tray on the table. Michelle seemed to be _talking_ about having met Spider-Man yesterday… and she was rolling her eyes??? Despite her rolling eyes, I still felt a little lurch of excitement that she was talking to people about having met me.

… _Why_ was she rolling her eyes, though?

I decided to fully set my tray on the table and try to cramp my body into a tight spot between two students I had never spoken to before.

“Hi Peter!” Said M.J. and Liz and a couple of others who knew my name. Liz smiled politely before turning back to M.J. to keep drilling her. Thankfully Liz didn’t seem to still be thinking about the interaction we had had yesterday. M.J. had an odd look in her eyes though, one I tried to ignore. _I was going to be present and she was going to forget about yesterday._ Everything was fine.

Liz was leaning her head on her hand and began asking, “Did he reveal—“ before she was interrupted my M.J. herself, who was pointing her nose in my direction.

“Why did you leave?” She confronted me.

I looked down at my food, until I decided that I was not going to look at my food. I was going to look her in the eyes. “I fell ill.” I was not going to speak confidently however, that ship had already sailed.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Or answer any of my calls?” Michelle threw at me, she wasn’t exactly angry, she looked more on the disappointed side, and confused if anything. It wasn’t a thing I usually did, not reply when she texted me. It was usually my top priority if history was of any indication.

“Really ill.” I added, practically seeing my guilt reflected in her eyes. I had put it off, answering those texts. I didn’t like lying, not unless I absolutely had to. It could be construed as me being hypocritical, was one wearing the right glasses. I was, after all, sitting on one pretty big secret. “But I heard Spidey was there.” I announced to the group. They had been looking all uncomfortable and it made me ten times more uncomfortable. At the mention of the scene that had took place yesterday they sat up straighter, with more optimism. Michelle however leaned back in her chair, further than most people usually lean back in their chairs; she always had been an overachiever. She didn’t seem all that interested in talking about yesterday and I slowly came to realize that M.J. hadn’t in fact engaged in gossip, gossip had engaged in her.

“Michelle met Spider-Man yesterday.” An odd looking egg among the audience told me with a suggestive smile. It stirred a bad feeling in my stomach, that suggestive smile. Michelle wouldn’t like Spider-Man in that way, I told myself. He’s too “save baby from a burning building”–esque. Right? She wouldn’t go crushing on him, would she? Because that would kill me in all kinds of ways.

“You all did, right?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “When I called he told me that he would show up.”

“We did …and afterward he sort of followed me home.” M.J. said shyly with a faint smile. _A smile._

I looked wide eyed at M.J. hoping she would show me some indication that she was not into the masked hero, that she’d much rather spend her time with a not-so save-the-world type guy.

“I hope you’ll still be my date to prom.” Liz joked.

“It was so cool when I saw him climbing along the ceiling! And when he shot his web directly at Flash! That was amazing!” Someone rambled.

Michelle tried to push back a smile. “It was pretty great what he did.”

“He’s not that great.” I contorted, leaving everyone stumped. _What the fuck, Peter?_ I thought. This had now become so convoluted that I was arguing that _I’m_ “not that great”.

“Isn’t he your friend?” The odd egg from before asked.

The words had slipped out and I was now put on the spot, unsure of how to proceed. “Yeah, I mean, he is. What I mean to say is just… he might seem great, but he’s not all that great _all_ the time. He has some bad sides too…” I trailed off, realizing I had said more than I would’ve had to.

“What are his bad sides?” People asked curiously.

“Uuum…” I had really dug myself a hole with this one. “Well for one, he’s bad at delegating his time, he misses important appointments all the time. And he talks too much. He doesn’t know when to shut up.”

Michelle raised her eyebrows. “So he’s like you, then?”

“No! No way! Not like me! …I’m just saying; he’s not _always_ all that great.” Having this conversation was like watching a multi-car crash and each new word I spoke was another car into the mix.

“Actually, you’re right.” Michelle agreed. “He kind of put me off a little yesterday, saying I should adapt to this sexist world where women can’t walk home alone without some form of protection.”

“ _Woah_ , he said that?” Liz dismayed, to which M.J. shrugged.

I couldn’t stand by and let this degenerate further. I had to say something. “Don’t you think what he meant to say was that you shouldn’t accept the world as it is, but you need to be _aware_ that there are dangers out there and take precautions?” _And now I’m back to defending him again? Pick a side Peter._

“Gee, you sound just like him. That was almost exactly what he said.” M.J. shook her head in bafflement and I wanted to bury myself for having opened this gate to all kinds of trouble I was not finding myself in. “I was actually kind of spooked at how much he reminded me of you.”

Everyone turned to look at me in disbelief as I tried to eat my pasta without being micro examined. They looked as if they were trying to piece together how it could be that geeky little Peter Parker could fit into the same universe as Spider-Man, and even stranger: be similar to him. “Really? Spider-Man reminded you of Peter?” Liz questioned.

“Like mother like son, I guess.” I joked while trying not to make eye contact with the staring crowd.

* * *

**10 August 2017**


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m going to walk you home.” I declared once I’d finally made my way through the crowd of students and caught up with M.J.

She groaned in response. “Why do you suddenly feel the need to walk me home Peter?”

“I’ve always felt the need, I’ve just never acted on it until today.” I explained, feeling the need to prove to her exactly how important this was to me by making my voice as genuine as possible. “It’s dangerous out there, you know.”

She looked me dead in the eyes, not believing a word I was saying. “You’re not going to walk me home.” She stated definitely while shaking her head.

“I’m going to walk you home.” I repeated, just as definitely as she had. I do believe I had her convinced, or at least given up because she only sighed at my antics. And so it was decided that I was going to follow her home, since she never made any other commands. Instead she toddled along my side while I toddled along hers.

We made our way toward the subway, walking through the streets of New York. I decided to tread lightly ahead with some jokey small talk. “So, how’s everything with you?” I asked, for a moment pretending that we were the sorts of friends who asked each other how we were.

M.J. was still obviously annoyed with me and she shot me a glare. But in a moment of what I assumed to be miniscule compassion, she decided to go along with it. “Swell.” But before I had a chance to celebrate, she added, “Until you showed up, now I’m just annoyed.” Maybe I should have my spider senses checked, as I seemed to have just mixed up compassion with devious intent, a bit of a long shot to say the least.

I refused to be discouraged however. _A perfect diversion,_ I thought. I had just steered the conversation into something the subject had an interest in to forget about the previous interaction — the subject’s interest in this case being to insult me.

“No, I don’t think so.” I countered. “I think I showed up, _and_ you’re annoyed, but I don’t think those are correlated. Which is an important distinction to make.”

“I think those _are_ correlated, because I _am_ very much annoyed with you.”

I put on my evidently false tone of concern. “You’re starting to sound like a conspirator. Not everything is correlated, M.J.” I gave her a crooked smile, like I’d just instilled some knowledge in her, which I knew would make her incendiary at the least.

But before she had a chance to bring down the apocalypse, before she had a chance to reply, before anything at all had a chance to happen, a loud cry from the alley we were just passing was heard and a threatening voice came with a “shut up!” in response.

I had to think fast. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and caused all my senses to calm, which in return made me focus. I could feel every sneeze, every path or probable yawn. Every turn, every escape, every stain or possible mishap that could set everything falling into pieces came and they all came cascading into my conscience. Three people, one was a victim of course, the others not so much.

M.J. ran. Unfortunately, not quite in the direction I had wished she would.

 _“Don’t run to the scene!”_ I despaired to myself in a hushed panic, seeing as the damage was already done and M.J. was running into the alleyway _toward_ the two large men.

It did give me a chance to get in character however, so not all was lost. I passed the corner, out of M.J.’s sight, and once I had made sure none of the few people on the street were paying attention to me, I slid my mask on. Once I’d gotten that out of the way I was free to get in the suit as quickly as I possibly could without having to mind anyone else.

With a quick locking of my bag to the wall where no one could reach it, I webbed my way upward the roof of the building, figuring I should arrive from a different point than where Peter had last been seen. Frankly, there was a whole art to this double life, an art which had gotten more complex lately than ever.

Thankfully, no gunfire had been heard as of yet, which was a small comfort to my rising nausea. As I gazed over the border of the building, down toward the scene, I prayed they didn’t have guns. To my immediate horror however, one of the men was pointing a very much existent gun at M.J., whose hands were stretched out in front of her. “You need to put your gun down.” M.J. was saying breathlessly.

 _I’ll put his gun down,_ I thought in anger. _I’ll put him down._

In one motion I shot my web so that it latched itself onto his hand holding the gun and pulled it toward me with as great force as I could. _Whoops_. Turns out his whole body came with him and he was now hanging like he’d just bungee jumped from the top of the building into this alley. Not one of New York’s top tourist attractions, but I was quite content with what I’d achieved. Before the other guy could do anything, I shot my rapid-fire web at him in copious amounts until he was soaked in it while the hanging guy kept yelling.

To finish my work of I secured the hanging guy with some extra web to make sure he wouldn’t drop and henceforth did the same to the other guy. I allowed myself to take a breath and register the danger to be over before I made my way down toward M.J. As I lowered myself in an upside down position, slowly making my way toward her, I noticed that the original victim was nowhere to be found. It’s what I usually call a runner. As soon as the danger is over, they disappear out of nowhere. I was used to them. And in all honestly, I often found those cases a relief. No excessive hugging, no crying to be comforted or thank yous to be welcomed. Clean break. And since it’s already honesty hour, I can share that I would in fact probably be a runner myself.

I turned back to an upright position while I descended onto the ground next to her. All she did was stare at me, mystified at what had just happened, before she finally managed to snap out of her trance. She glanced at the ground, to my surprise looking mildly uncomfortable. “So…” She began, sinking her hands into her pockets slowly. I stared at her just like she had at me.

The thought hit me that I didn’t have a clue how I was possibly going to get out of the suit and then return as Peter Parker immediately without it being blatantly obvious to M.J. what was actually going on. Or making myself, Peter that is, seem like an absolute asshole. Although on second thought, that ship had already sailed. As Peter Parker was evidently nowhere to be seen.

“Thanks, I guess.” She mumbled then, and I took it wholeheartedly. At least there was no excessive hugging. I take that back, please let there be excessive hugging.

But no hugging came out of her, instead she awkwardly began, “…I’m heading to the subw—“

“You don’t need the subway.” I interrupted in a sudden surge of confidence, how odd it felt that our roles were reversed. With a yelp from her I slung us away from the alley in a flash. I swung us across the city, very much enjoying acting like the heroic champion I didn’t typically get to feel like around Michelle. I decided there and then that if I couldn’t make Peter a hero in her eyes, I was going to make Spider-Man everything Peter had always wanted to be, in that way, at least one part of me could be content.

Once we’d gotten to her apartment building, and M.J. had in a somewhat drunken manner stumbled in through the window, it dawned on me how relieved I felt at seeing her safe and whole in the comforts of her own home again. It made me frantic, the relief I felt.

“You’re an _idiot_ for running into that back alley!” was the first thing I blurted out once I’d stepped inside after her. I wanted to make her feel bad about what she had done, prevent her from doing any such thing again.

“It’s my responsibility, spider-guy.” She said, her confident self being back with full force. She sat down on the armrest of her couch. Her words threw me back a little. There was very little room for me to argue that point, seeing as it’s my own.

“You know you can just call me Spider-Man like most decent people do.” I proposed instead.

“Nah, doesn’t really sit right with me.” She explained casually. “Maybe if you grew a bread.” Her suggestion was confronting, and she leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on their target. She had me just as nervous as I could imagine her intent was, and she smiled smugly.

“Maybe I do have a beard, how could you possibly know?” I contradicted, briefly wondering if her challenging manner could be interpreted as flirtatious or not. But I didn’t dare make any assertion.

“I’m just going to have to see for myself.” She declared smoothly. In one swift movement later, she was stood right in front of me looking very much like M.J. commonly does. Her trademark flannel on, hair hanging where it usually hangs, which is really where the whole problem of declining control sets of in the first place. Before I had any chance to get used to her close proximity, if I ever could, her hand was already on the hem of my mask.

“No!” I exclaimed and grabbed hold of her arms to stop her from moving so much as a centimeter more than she already had.

“What?” She inquired. She looked stumped. “You’re not going to show me who you are?” She asked, sounding more shocked than I had expected her to.

“Well, that would pretty much defeat the whole purpose of the disguise wouldn’t it?” I jeered, still with her wrists in my hands. M.J. seemed downright offended at my lack of cooperation, and I let her. This was one of the very few things I was absolutely certain of. No one got to look beyond the mask. Except for the ones who already had.

“Who are you?” She pushed in a murmur, letting her curiosity replace the offence she had previously felt.

“I’m…” I began, unsure what I could say to satisfy her. “Someone entirely different. I don’t think you’d like him a whole lot.” Which at the moment, seemed fairly true, how could M.J. like me after having seemingly abandoned her a second time. My mood plumed at that thought, leaving me feeling empty.

She looked annoyed while she searched my face. “You do realize the only thing separating you are spandex, right? People have had inner conflict over bigger things. Get over yourself.” She snapped. I wasn’t sure if her annoyance was leftovers from me refusing to tell her who I was, or something more recent…

“It wasn’t the suit who tore that guy away from he out there, you do realize that, right?” She fiercely pointed out the window in the general direction of the crime scene. Her features turned soft and genuine, “It was _you_.” She said.

I watched her curiously. She made it sound so simple, and she didn’t just make it sound simple, she made it feel simple. I let my mind notice that we were face to face. Close. I let her move closer, let her hands slip up toward that consecrated hem. I let her tell me she wouldn’t lift the whole mask. I let her promise.

Her mouth was now pretty close to mine. I tried and failed at holding back a gulp. “This could never happen.” I whispered underneath my breath.

“I know.” She whispered back, closer than she’d ever been to the, now bare, lower half of my face.

“It’s too dangerous.”

M.J. smiled and rolled her eyes. “I know.” She whispered with a small hint of sarcasm. “You have to protect me from the face of danger.”

I would have laughed had I not been under a minor hypnosis. Eventually I breathed out a distant, “Yeah…”

“Maybe you should tell that to Peter.” She continued. The words hit hard and my hypnosis lifted like all gravity was lost. I backed away from her and she frowned confusedly.

I suddenly felt very twitchy, like I couldn’t really focus on one thing. The guilt I felt had risen to the surface again. “Yeah, I’ll talk to Peter about that.” I assured her, appearance now of utmost vigor. “He probably has a lot on his mind. But I’m going to tell him he needs to check where his priorities lie.” I rambled while fidgeting badly.

“Yeah, you do that.” M.J. humored me with an amused tint to her expression. “And tell him he needs to stop wearing those geeky t-shirts that say things like, ‘Why can you never trust an atom? They make up everything!’ It’s getting a little carried away. Unhealthy, even.”

I stopped in my tracks. “You don’t like science t-shirts?” I realized subsequently that I was sounding judgmental in the middle of my crisis. “I should go.” I stuttered and left that same way I had come and leaving her mouth hanging open, without a chance to reply.

Once I was home again in my darkly lit room I got a chance to look at my phone that had been inside my bag, taped to a building for an hour or two. Eventually, when I’d gone through and replied to all of Ned’s propositions and queries and the likes, I read a text Michelle’s just sent me.

_Where did you go? You just disappeared._

I was sat at my bed, everything around me was either a dark blue shadow or yellowy orange from the streetlights and I was staring at the text. The heroic act from before had worn of and I felt more like Peter Parker than I’d ever felt before. _Fuck Spider-Man_ , I thought. I told myself, I begged myself and I _promised_ myself that if I could do it in spandex, I could in fact do it without.

* * *

**17 August 2017**


	5. Chapter 5

As the days passed the talk got less about Spider-Man and more about the approaching homecoming dance and I found myself walking the hallways with less anxiety. Although every time Ned and I walked past the set of giggling M.J. and Liz, I wished she would say something about the guy, something to indicate the encounter we had had. But my wishes were punctured by her obscurity. Now, the only notion that served as proof I had in fact been in her apartment that day, was that I wore less science t-shirts, to no one’s comfort but hers.

She seemed happy. She hadn’t been that upset by the fact that I’d left her in the alley. It just didn’t seem to bother her, which was an even worse fact than if she would have been mad obviously. She didn’t care whether I had been there or not, she might have once, but not anymore.

“Peter.” M.J. said, like it was the third time she’d said it. “Maybe you could get Spider-Man to be the photographer?” She joked. Ned was sitting by her side. They were discussing the dance, while I lay still with my head on the table and paid so much as zero attention to them.

“Why?” I muttered.

M.J. leaned down to my level, her closeness enthralled me, and my eyes flickered away in an effort to keep my head straight. “Didn’t you mention once that he’s a photographer? And that he takes photography of himself for the Daily Bugle?”

I sat up straight again, causing her to follow. “Yeah, but he’s not any good, and he wouldn’t come to the dance.” I quickly replied.

M.J. rolled her eyes. “Take a fucken joke.” She said and shoved my head lightly, something, which did put a small smile on my face. “It’s not like it’s _beyond_ my understanding that a superhero’s not going to be the photographer at a high school dance.” She looked Ned and I in the eyes to make sure we were getting it and took a bite of her apple. “It’s just fun to imagine.” She added while chewing mindlessly.

Ned, catching the beat I had missed, commented humorously, “Do you imagine Spider-Man for _‘fun’_ a lot, M.J?” He smiled smugly.

Without so much as a blush, M.J. said, “Actually, I don’t really worry much about him, seeing as I already have a date, she’s called Liz. Do you know her?”

 _Unfortunately_ , I thought in an instant of self-pity. But in front of my own private thoughts, where M.J. could actually see, the corners of my mouth twitched into a small smile. She smiled back at me with enigmatically shy eyes, reminding me of my devotion for her like a blow at my gut. Michelle and I had an unspoken contest continuously going on of who could reply sarcastically to any given utterance, most often. One she was inaudibly winning and her private smile toward me was her victory dance, her inviting me to challenge her. Though instead of minding neither the challenge nor the source of the shy eyes, I smiled back at her. I held her gaze, I soaked in her shy eyes, and I took it to keep for myself, saving it for later. It was something Liz couldn’t have, this moment.

“So M.J.” I began, throat hoarse and eyes focused on fiddly hands. “What kind of scenarios usually pop up in your head when you have these visions of said Spider-person?” I asked, hoping for heart-quickening details and trying not to lock eyes solely with my own hands. Ned raised his eyes from his history book to give me a once over, seemingly checking for clues of my mental state.

Michelle put her elbow firmly on the table and bored her eyes into my skull. “ _Again_ , I don’t really worry much about him, and if I ever do let my imagination wander it’s usually of him realizing I don’t need him to walk me home from a party, and him instead being occupied with fighting _actual_ threats on the central streets of New York.” She leaned back in her chair with her book, outwardly proud of having fit all those words into one breath of air.

“Why are you friends with that guy, anyway?” M.J. mumbled from her book, like she was wary of her own question, not quite daring to commit to it.

I exchanged a glance with Ned, who urgently returned to his book once again. This had M.J. even more intrigued. “What?” She kept asking. “Does it have something to do with your secret project?” She was now intrigued in her own low-key way, book hanging loosely from her grip.

I shook my head with furrowed brows. “Why can’t he just be my friend, without a particular reason for it? He’s a good guy.”

M.J. huffed and ran her eyes along a page in her book. “I know better guys.”

I looked at M.J. with disbelief. I knew I had been kind of hot and cold lately when it came to how I displayed my affinity for Spider-Man, but I just couldn’t let this one slip away without a discussion. The guy had after all saved her from a bullet to the head. “You know better guys than one who spends his time selflessly preventing crime without getting paid or any of the real credit, hence him being masked?”

She tilted her head slightly upwards and looked me straight in the eyes. “Yes.” She said, surprisingly confidently. “I know a guy who _shows his face_ in school every day, despite having other things to worry about and he gives his all. He goes to his classes, studies hard, answers every god damn decathlon question correctly without so much as a hesitation and is all the while kind and funny and brilliant and while doing all those things, still at the end of the day goes home to have dinner with his mother and doesn’t bat an eyelash when he’s served larb at a less than fancy restaurant _again_. And all of this, he does with his own face.” M.J. was livid as I stared at her. I felt like a little kid under her stare while simultaneously prouder than I’d ever felt before. I just couldn’t believe she still thought those things about me despite our recent interactions.

“Me?” I asked.

M.J. shrugged. Shrugging was like her own special ingredient she added to any dish she served. “And Ned too.” She added.

“Wow, thanks M.J. I do like larb.” Ned said sarcastically, not really taking the feedback to his heart.

After a moment’s silence I sheepishly added, “That’s still not better than what Spider-Man does.” mostly to my lap than anyone else. However, I couldn’t quite fight the oncoming smile on my face, the gradually evolving type that lasted me the whole day, and the also gradually evolving elated feeling in my gut that lasted me all the way to the homecoming dance.

 _Until_ is probably a better word here: it lasted me _until_ the homecoming dance.

Certain cemented conventions are bound to be followed at dances, conventions, which I didn’t _usually_ mind. But this night, everything seemed to be wrong in some way or another.

“Isn’t it odd how so many girls wear dresses to these things? Like why? And why do they bring dates? It’s such a weird custom if you think about it.” I said to Ned, who was leaning against the same wall as I. We were wall leaning buddies just as we were also science buddies, locker buddies, school project buddies and other forms of buddies. We were partners in crime, you could say, but currently missing a third of the company.

“I think what you mean to say is: isn’t it odd how _girl_ wear dresses and why _girl_ bring dates.” My buddy replied absentmindedly. He was currently doing better at the whole leaning-casually-against-a-wall thing than my restless self. Although I do believe I had mastered our customary poking-fun-at-this-dumb-event thing, I was unbeatable tonight.

“And no it’s not weird, it actually kind of makes a hell lotta’ sense if you think about it.” Ned added; making me even restless-er than before, if that’s a word.

So far, M.J. had danced with Liz to Locket Love by Ramones, suggested to someone who was not Flash, seeing as he was blacklisted from being the DJ for life. She came up to us several times to implore us to take part in the festivities, an uncharacteristic action of hers and one neither of us condoned, some less than others, me being some and Ned being others. Thankfully, Flash only came up to us once for one of his scheduled taunts, but I was not looking forward to the rest, given how the first one had been enough to send me coiling down a spiral of self-hatred at not having told him off. I believe M.J. had seen the whole thing, seen the lack of avenging extravaganza. The good old restlessness I had felt before had now been exchanged with sheer moping as a result.

Michelle had also had a lot of punch, a suspicious amount of punch if you ask me, and it caused me to wonder if the punch had been spiked. I needed to know if she had abandoned yet another of her routines — her sober ego, to replace it with an alcohol drinking alter ego. Which lead me to not only wonder, but wander down to the _actual punch-table_ , in the flesh, alive and well. I guess M.J. wasn’t the only one roaming around uncharted territory tonight.

“Have we ever been to the punch-table at one of these things before in our entire lives?” Ned asked with his eyes squinted in reminiscence.

In an effort to look natural in this, to me, unnatural environment I awkwardly swirled around one of the ladles in one of the violet liquids, causing some bubbles to appear. “Honestly, it’s a riddle to me why we even attend in the first place, we don’t deserve to be here.”

Ned was leaned over one of the fruit punch bowls, examining it meticulously for any sign of unholy water. “Are you saying that our lack of appreciation for it has rendered us undeserving of it now?” He requested skeptically.

M.J.’s voice from behind interrupted us then, “Have you guys ever been to the punch-table at one of these things before in your entire lives?”

No matter how sad I felt about the whole M.J. thing, I couldn’t help but be ripped back to our usual repartee then. My playful side had been called upon, and it was an unstoppable force. “Careful there, M.J., you don’t want to go and build yourself a superiority complex, do you? Especially seeing as earlier today, you hadn’t made it beyond the corner wall either. You were nothing more than a simple farm boy, just like us.”

Michelle looked relieved that our dynamic was on its common ground. She lit up, while still keeping in character. She pressed her lips together in an effort of faking a thought process. “I think I do recollect having been closer to this part of the realm than any of you two have, even before tonight.” Her argument was seamless, and yet I endured.

“I don’t believe it.” I said back and began pouring a cup of the sweet liquid. I hadn’t forgotten mine and Ned’s ultimate quest, no matter how successful M.J. typically was in the distraction division. I brought the cup to my nose under both Ned and Michelle’s eyes. But with my lack of knowledge of alcohol, I couldn’t make out if there was any in it or not. Without minding how odd I was making myself appear, I decided that someone would have to taste it, and that that someone was not going to be me, so I handed the cup to my right.

“There you go Ned, your first drink at a high school dance.” I said and sent a fake grin his way.

I did not receive one back however. “I don’t want any punch, Peter.” He said resolutely. “You taste it.”

I feigned offence, “Ned, you know I only drink tap water; sourced from sustainable materials; preferably lukewarm.” I half-joked.

“We do know you like your tap water, Peter.” Michelle agreed sardonically. “But seriously guys, what’s the big deal? It’s only punch.” She queried, looking genuinely puzzled now.

“We think it’s might be spiked.” Ned confessed and handed her the drink for her to examine.

M.J. didn’t look convinced though. “Boys, I’ve been drinking this all night, believe me when I say—“ She stopped, eyes focusing not on us anymore, but somewhere behind us. We turned to see what had caused her speech to fail, seeing that right behind us was Flash, sneakily and successfully actually spiking the punch with a small bottle at hand. _Well_ , I thought, _at least there hadn’t been alcohol in the punch, M.J. walked free._

Key word: _Hadn’t._

Flash looked up at us then, concentration on his task interrupted. He fell smoothly into a sneer and said, “I hope your friend isn’t going to tape me to the floor this time?”

My face remained cold. “That depends, are you going to harass anyone? Because I’ve got him on speed dial.” I replied.

Flash laughed. “That would have been threatening Peter, had I not had such a hard time believing anything you’re saying, since speed dial hasn’t really been used since about 1996.”

I looked at Flash’s smile. I refused to look anywhere else since I knew M.J. was right behind me, taking in the whole conversation and my pathetic self, the victim of some random kid’s vendetta. She was probably just waiting for this interaction to be over so that she could safely return to Liz, to continue dancing and not bother with my wretched self. _I was the one who fought of two gun holding guys last week!_ I wanted to tell her. The sad fact, being that I couldn’t, dawned on me like never before. She would never know any more of me than this. A geeky kid, looking doe-eyed up at his bully and I had ricocheted back to my mopey self, this time with a pinch of anger attached.

I took a long and hard look at Flash, his annoying smile was going to follow me to my grave, I might as well get used to it. “Flash,” I began. “I’m having a hard time with your general presence right now. Maybe you should _back off_ to somewhere that’s not here, because if you say another mean word to me, I will release my wrath on you and I think you know better than most people in here that I have an extensive knowledge of the chemical substances needed in the creation of explosives. So could you please leave us alone for the rest of your short but sweet time on this earth?”

I felt quite proud of having been able to speak that many words in the company of Flash. He was one whom I didn’t usually confront in this direct manner, or any manner at all. Flash himself however, didn’t look all that faced, except for a small crease between his eyebrows that had not been there before.

Flash sighed loudly, “If there’s one thing I can say about you Peter, it’s that you sure know how to talk. For a looong, extended amount of time, leaving me not quite sure about anything you just said.”

I knew he had heard every word I had said, he just couldn’t walk away now that I had told him to do so, it would ruin his reputation of being a complete idiot no one really liked.

“I told you to _leave_.” I demanded, and when he didn’t cooperate I knew I would have to get away from the conversation before I would inevitably flip out on him. This night so far was confirmation enough that it would happen if I didn’t leave right now. Without a word I walked by him, shoving his shoulder with mine as I passed. I’d had enough. I was just never going to get redeemed in M.J.’s eyes, Flash was never going to accept me and I would always remain the same kid I hated.

As a last gag, mostly to comfort myself and wield some revenge on Flash, I turned and said loudly, “What the fuck is that?” looking to the left of them. When everyone turned to see what I was referring to I shot my web at his shoes, and like a Frisbee I whipped it back, causing him to fall to the floor once again. “Looks like we don’t need Spider-Man to tape you to the floor, after all!” I called. Once the deed was done, I exited the room as quick as I could, heading for the bathroom.

You’d think the bathroom would be crowded, seeing as a lot of people were drinking a lot of beverages at once, but true to social structures, only the girl’s lavatory was occupied, allowing me to slip into the men’s bathroom, unbothered, to mope all by myself. I sat down on a toilet seat in one of the stalls and hoped Ned wouldn’t come and find me. I wanted to be by myself for a while.

Yet still, only a couple of moments passed before the door opened, briefly letting a rumble of music into the room. A shot of further annoyance ran through me. _Why couldn’t he understand?_

“Peter?”

Nope. That was not Ned. That was the beautiful sound of another favorite human being of mine.

“This is the men’s bathroom, M.J.” I said dully. _Why hadn’t I closed the stall door?_ I thought while mentally slapping myself.

I heard her walking toward me until she was stood right in front of the stall I was occupying with her eyebrows raised. “Bathrooms have neither genders nor genitals, Peter.”

I looked up at her, it felt like she was towering above me from my position on the toilet seat. _How did she manage to look and sound this confident all the time?_ I wondered. “You’re probably pissed of that I just ruined all the fun.” I moaned while leaning my head against the stall door.

M.J. smiled then and squatted down to end up on what was almost my level. “I’m actually quite proud.” She said like she couldn’t really believe it, and to be fair, I didn’t either.

“How come?” I asked in my most sardonic voice, head never leaving wall.

“Peter, you stood up to Flash. For once, _you_ actually did. Not Spider-Man or anyone else.” She said encouragingly. She leaned her elbow against the door so as not to loose her balance.

I locked eyes with her. _She didn’t know, did she?_ I pushed the thought away.

“You mean I didn’t call Spider-Man to pick my battles for me?” I asked hesitantly. I hadn’t thought of that until now. Neither Ned or Michelle had said anything during our whole interaction with Flash, and to her knowledge, I didn’t even use my web shooter.

 _Of course_ M.J. had to go and understand my inner battle better than I ever could.

“I mean…” For once, she was the one to look at the floor and have troubles with the word thing. “I mean that you didn’t… _appear_ as …him.” She said, looking apologetically up at me in a confessionary style. My head fell, defeated.

“You know.” I groaned. Oddly, I was feeling quite ashamed, like it was some embarrassing thing I’d done, creating an alter ego and dressing up as him on a regular basis. Actually, now that I think about it, it is quite embarrassing.

Michelle shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah…” She replied with that same old apologetic expression she didn’t need to use.

“I still used my web.” I argued and showed of the web shooter on my wrist to her, figuring we could at least talk about it now that it was out in the air.

“Yeah, but what you don’t seem to be seeing is that you didn’t use Spider-Man as a confidence boost. You were Peter, and you were awesome, as Peter.” She smiled. “Peter! Peter! Peter!” She repeated and out of nowhere and then moved on to hug me, quickly but tightly. She seemed really happy for me.

I looked at her shyly through my eyebrows, feeling quite flabbergasted from the sudden hug. “You know I’m Spider-Man.” I declared.

“I know you’re the Spidery-guy who does the webby things.” She said, this time with more confidence.

“How?”

Her eyes trailed upwards, searching the room for an answer. “Because you’re like mother and son.” She sighed.

“So basically you’ve known all along?” I said flatly.

“No.” She sighed at my slow uptake. “ _The party_ , remember? ‘We’re like mother and son.’ — You weren’t even there, so how he had said that _the day after_ in the cafeteria when you made the same joke?” She said, like the explanation was clear as day.

It wasn’t. I looked uncertainly at her. I think she was expecting me to fill in details I didn’t have. Especially given how I didn’t even recall the conversation she was referring to. But anyhow, it was M.J. She probably knew what she was talking about.

“But if you knew all along, why did you keep tearing Spider-Man down all the time right in front of me!” I squinted at her in an accusatory way.

“Because! I was trying to build Peter Parker _up!”_ She flailed her arm at me, as if it would somehow make me understand her idiotic reasoning better. “I wanted you to know I think you’re better than him.” She said like she was a passionate lecturer explaining quantum theory to me.

“You do know we’re the same person, right?” I asked, like I was explaining basic addition to her.

“Do you?” She retorted. Again with the understanding things I hadn’t even talked to her about!

I ignored the question, feeling that we shouldn’t diverge too far from the subject of her tearing me down for the past week or two. “Well, it didn’t work.” I crossed my arms. “Your plan of tearing one of me down to build the other up, _very much didn’t work._ ”

“Of course it didn’t,” She rolled her eyes and dislodged my crossed arms. “Because you’re Peter and you can’t fucking see when I’m trying to tell you things, and much less what I’m trying to tell you. _Especially_ if it’s something positive, and concerning you.”

I leaned back on the seat and we shared a knowing smile. I wanted to move away from this subject, so I asked the next question that was troubling me. We had a lot of those to burn through. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew though?”

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” M.J. had clearly expected this question and had come prepared with a quip in return. I guessed it was time for me to give some answers back.

“You know who I am. This is just a…” I wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “…hobby of some sort.”

But Michelle wouldn’t have my explanation. “It’s not a hobby, nor is it an alter ego, it’s you. It’s half of you and you hid it from your best friend. And I was annoyed. So I didn’t tell you and I’m not going to apologize for it, because you deserved it.” M.J. was sounding more remorseful than what she was intentionally communicating. “And I also did a couple of experiments to make sure.” She trepedatiously added. I urged her to go on and she reluctantly did. “I had to make sure you genuinely were the person who was in the mask, so I conducted experiments, seeing if I could say things to Spider-Man that would stimulate a response in your normal self…”

“Hold on.” I interrupted, with a forlorn looking M.J. before me. “That’s how you got me to stop wearing sciency t-shirts?” I gawked.

“That’s right.” M.J. confirmed, and to my surprise she actually broke into an amused smile on top of her previous forlorn expression. I guess the humor of it all got to her. “I actually don’t mind the t-shirts, just wanted to see what would happen.” She looked like a child who had just stolen a cookie from the cookie jar, pleased, but still bearing the appurtenant guilt. “And boy was I pleased with the results, as you haven’t worn one since!” She laughed and clapped her hands in delight, but all I could do was look amazed at the influence she could have on me if she only wanted.

“But Spidey could have told me about the interaction!” I contended.

She seemed to calm down significantly at this. “Peter…” I received a fond smile. “You’re him, he’s you. Don’t you understand that I see that?” She stood up then. “Anyway. There are more pressing matters at hand.”

I stood up with her, painfully aware that we were actually in a lavatory stall, but I did my best to ignore that notion for the moment. I was nervous but intrigued at what the next part of this night would offer. M.J. apparently seemed to have something in mind for it.

What exactly that was became gradually more deluded in my mind however, when she moved closer to me by the second in an utmost peculiar manner. I took a few steps back in an attempt to regain my balance. It was hard fitting two people into a stall as small as this one. Especially seeing as we were both using the most of our height at this point. “What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly. I didn’t feel confident enough to make any predisposed assumptions.

Michelle didn’t answer my question, a tedious fact. Instead, she put both her hands on the wall, one on either side of me. I was caged. There were very few places I could look that weren’t M.J. with her being super close to me an all. For a moment, a very brief one of those, I could do nothing but stare at her lips. Sure, I could have probably found another place to look if I had had more time. But in the moment, it seemed that it was the place my eyes had decided to adventure to.

M.J. faked what looked like some very calculated shock then. “You’re thinking about kissing me.” She smiled smugly.

“No — What! Why would you think that?!” I lied.

M.J. smiled sweetly. “Why would I think that?” She whispered.

Facts faced: she had probably noticed that time when I looked at her lips for a fraction of a second. “I don’t know why you would think that …kiddo.” I replied nervously.

She rolled her eyes and stepped away from me, allowing me to breathe. _Thank god._ But also: _Damn it._

“Really? I’m _kiddo_ now?” She exasperated, but to my relief, she seemed to forget about me calling her kiddo pretty much immediately, closing in on me again. She looked nervous now. “Now that you finally know that I know that you’re Spider-Man, you can finally kiss me.” She trembled, looking at me expectantly.

I considered if I should in fact kiss her or not. On one hand, I really wanted to, and on the other — yeah I should probably do it. I leaned in…

“What about Liz?”

“Liz knows I’m in love with you.”

Satisfied with the answer I had got, I leaned in further, slowly. And then I kissed her, really slowly. She breathed in heavily once I did, and kissed me back, slowly. I raised my hand to touch her hair, slowly.

We went on like that for a while before M.J. suddenly stopped. She looked at me with her eyes wide. It took me a while to recognize the familiar tones of Sheena Is A Punk Rocker in the background.

“I didn’t even request this!” She chimed excitedly.

“I think it might be Ned telling us he needs us back.” I said. She took my hand and led me back to the gym. A night of waving our arms around while jumping ensued.

* * *

Thank you for reading

**1 September 2017**


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